


Writing Wasn't Just For Humans

by Itneveroccurredtomeatall



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pining, Pining Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itneveroccurredtomeatall/pseuds/Itneveroccurredtomeatall
Summary: "After centuries of trying to write, Aziraphale decided writing was much like the culinary arts: he made a much better patron than a creator. Perhaps the arts were something only humans could really grasp."But Aziraphale is nosy and stumbles upon Crowley's writing, which leads to a startling revelation.





	1. Chapter 1

Over the years, Aziraphale had been lucky enough to encounter many talented writers who would later become world-renowned (on occasion thanks to his own influence). Their works would never be forgotten and they’d be taught in classrooms or read to children at bed time around the world. He couldn’t help but feel more than a little proud. 

He’d met the Brontë family. He’d spent a few years not-quite-stalking Virgil. He’d met Roald Dahl and also fallen in love with Wales on the same trip. He’d even bought Arthur Rimbaud a drink in Paris one night. He’d gotten a coffee and watched J.K. Rowling writing what would become a best-selling book series, followed by a movie series and accompanying short stories and then a spin-off movie series.

Aziraphale had loved the excitement of witnessing more or less ordinary people create extraordinary things. 

Of course, he had tried his hand at writing, but the right words somehow managed to escape him every time he sat down to write. He’d stare at the blank page for hours, sometimes days, but he’d never be able to bring himself to write a single word. It was… intimidating.

After centuries of trying to write, Aziraphale decided writing was much like the culinary arts: he made a much better patron than a creator. Perhaps the arts were something only humans could really grasp. God had loved the humans most so God must have given them the greatest gift of all: the ability of pure creation. They were true reflections of God, then. Angels and demons were simply there to keep things running.

Aziraphale didn’t mind. After all, he got to experience humanity’s greatest creations along with their worst. He marveled at how creative they were. They could create the guillotine, genetically engineer more aesthetically pleasing fruits, and write Hamlet and all within a few centuries! They could philosophize about the nature of life and death and then go out and kill someone in the name of religion. They were truly limitless.

In fact, he was reading a book entitled  Beyond Human: Claiming the Power and Magic of Your Limitless Self when Crowley flung open the front door and stomped into the shop.

“Are you busy this week?” Crowley asked as he flopped himself into the armchair opposite Aziraphale. 

He set down the book. “I don’t believe so.”

“Excellent. I’m going on a business trip and I’ll need you to come over to my flat to water the plants. I’ll leave instructions… and the Ritz is on me next time.” 

Aziraphale smiled. It didn’t really matter who paid for lunch; they both pulled money out of thin air, but it was the thought that counted.

So, he found himself at Crowley’s flat two days later, surrounded by flourishing, green plants in a sleek room. 

Aziraphale set down the water mister, satisfied that all the plants had received enough water for the day. 

“Don’t worry, dears. Crowley will be back soon enough,” he assured them. He could have sworn he saw a few plants start to tremble at that. 

He retreated to the study and shut the door leading to the plant room behind him. 

As he crossed the room, he couldn’t help but notice a small, black book on the demon’s desk.

He didn’t know Crowley read. He’d certainly never seen the demon take any interest in any of the books in the shop. 

Curious about what could possibly attract the demon’s attention more than Aziraphale’s first edition collection of John Milton’s  Paradise Lost (which he had once spent three years trying to convince Crowley to read before giving up), the angel opened the book to a random page and started to read. 

To his surprise, it was handwritten. He didn’t know Crowley also collected rare books. 

_ I can’t help but be grateful. I’ve seen empires rise and fall and wars destroy lives. I’ve seen the most beautiful sunrises imaginable, including the very first.  _

_ I didn’t know what it was; the sun had disappeared at the end of the first day and then there had only been darkness. I didn’t even know what darkness was, at the time. But, after a certain amount of time in the dark, the sunlight returned and chased it away. I had hoped it would also chase away whatever darkness was in me. _

_ I’ve seen languages being created, evolving, and, eventually, dying out, like stars, and I know every single one of them.  _

_ And, yet, none of it compares to  _ _him_ _. Those moments where_ _he_ _smiles at me and, for an instant, it feels like I never fell; I’m in Heaven all over again. I never want to leave. I want_ _him_ _to smile at me until all the darkness fades away and I can just be me. No Heaven. No Hell. Just us._

_God doesn’t love me, but, if_ _he_ _did, none of it would matter. It wouldn’t matter that I fell or that I don’t quite belong in Hell. One day, I’ll be worthy of_ _him_ _. And then, maybe, the darkness will leave me._

It turned out, writing wasn’t just for humans, Aziraphale realized as he set the notebook down carefully, the words still echoing in his head. 

They weren’t the most… literary. The structure of the sentences was simple enough. There were no complicated metaphors, clever plays on words, or incredibly profound messages about life. 

But there was something so raw about it, so powerfully  _ true _ and so very vulnerable, that Aziraphale felt as though he were Crowley for a moment; he felt that intense, overwhelming love, longing, and desperate hope. He could feel himself searching for redemption in someone he admired so much that their word and their love would outweigh God’s. And that was, well, a lot, wasn’t it? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not read Beyond Human: Claiming the Power and Magic of Your Limitless Self, but I have done a Google search for "books about humanity being limitless."


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re not eating,” Crowley said, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts. They were at their now weekly lunch at the Ritz. “Is something wrong, angel? You’ve been holding that fork with the same piece of cake for at least a minute now. Is the cake not sweet enough for you?”

“I-no, of course not. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfectly fine, thank you.” Aziraphale hastily shoved the forkful of cake into his mouth. He could feel Crowley’s intense scrutiny on him. 

He quickly chewed and swallowed his mouthful of cake. “Actually, Crowley, I must tell you something.”

Crowley frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Alright, then. Spit it out.” 

“Well, do you remember when you went to New York to tie up some loose ends?”

Crowley nodded. 

“And I watered your plants because you said they could use a little extra water since London was actually going to have sunshine for more than a few hours?”

Crowley nodded again with an air of exasperation. “Angel, is this going anywhere?”

“Yes, well, I-I found a book on your desk. And, you know me, never could resist a good read, could I? And I was just so… surprised!” Aziraphale gestured wildly with his fork. “I didn’t know you liked to read, Crowley. I simply  _ had _ to know what you were reading. But, well, it turned out that you were writing, weren’t you?” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “I really didn’t mean to look. It just- I couldn’t help myself.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“Please, Crowley, don’t be upset. I think your writing is lovely. And I would know! I would rank you right up there with-”

“How much did you read?” Crowley interrupted, meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“Just a little. A page or so. Nothing too-”

“Which page?” Crowley demanded.

“The one where you wrote about the sunrise and the languages and-”

“God,” Crowley choked out. 

Aziraphale nodded. “And God,” he confirmed. 

They sat in silence for a moment.

“What do you think?” Crowley asked finally. 

“You’ve got potential, my dear boy! I particularly loved the bit about the sun rising and chasing away the darkness and your hope that it would do the same for you; it was quite moving,” Aziraphale said, beaming. Finally, something he was a little more comfortable with. He had been reading and reviewing works of writing for centuries, after all. “It could use with a little je ne sais quoi and probably some editing. I’d be happy to help you with that, if you’re looking to publish. And I know a publishing house that would be quite interested in -”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh….” Aziraphale’s face fell.Then realization dawned on him. “Oh!”

“So?”

Crowley was looking straight at him now and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he should say. It was quite flattering, really, that Crowley thought so much of him. And also quite terrifying. He was a principality angel; Aziraphale couldn’t possibly give Crowley the redemption or amount of love that he was looking for. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. Climb every mountain, as Heaven preached. But could he do that to Crowley? He’d be offering his friend hope and Aziraphale knew he’d eventually fall short of what Crowley deserved. Maybe not tomorrow or even in the next century. But, one day, he wouldn’t be enough and he’d let Crowley down.

“I-I didn’t know you felt that way,” he finally settled on. 

“Yeah, that was kinda the point, angel” Crowley replied wryly as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

“No! Wait, please!” Aziraphale said rather loudly. A few people at the surrounding tables turned to cast them curious glances.

Crowley paused and, after a moment, slipped back into his chair. 

“I know you. You don’t have to be nice now that you’ve rejected me; I’m not a child, Aziraphale. I’ll be alright.”

“Rejected you?” Aziraphale repeated incredulously. “Rejected you?” He raised his voice. “If you would just let me finish before running off, you’d know that I was not about to reject you!”

They were silent for a moment. 

“You weren’t?” Crowley sounded almost puzzled.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I wasn’t.” And now he knew it was true and he knew exactly what to say. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's very cheesy and fluffy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Thanks for waiting! :)

“Could you- would you mind taking off your sunglasses?” 

Crowley hesitated for a moment and then reached up to remove the shades. He folded them and set them down carefully on the table in front of him. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Crowley, I- you’re my oldest friend. Quite possibly my only friend.” He met Crowley’s eyes. “And that means the world to me. You mean the world to me. You mean more than the world to me. And I’ve never said anything, but I really must start to tell you how much you mean to me.”

Crowley stared at him. “You  _ really _ don’t have to do that, angel.”

“No, no, I really do. I should have done so ages ago,” Aziraphale continued. He was certain this was both the hardest and, somehow, the easiest thing he’d ever had to do. “I haven’t- I haven’t felt this way for nearly as long as you have, much less put any words to the way I feel about you… but I have always… I think that I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t like you, even when I didn’t know what the feeling was. You’ve been the most important person to me in the world. And when I realized what it meant, well, I just wanted to be with you. The happiest time of my life was those years at the Dowling Estate. Despite the impending apocalypse, I smiled everyday because I saw you everyday,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’m unbearably fond of you.”

It was clear Crowley was on the verge of tears. His eyes were red and he was trembling ever so slightly. “Angel….” His voice was raw. 

“I can stop if it’s too much.” Aziraphale reached across the table to take Crowley’s hand. He could feel the demon’s slight tremors. 

Aziraphale waited for a moment, but Crowley stayed silent, so he continued.

“And I, well, I think you’re wrong about God. I think She still loves you. How could She not?” He paused. “But, even if She doesn’t, I love you,” Aziraphale said firmly. Warmly. “I love you so much, Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched as the first tear finally fell from Crowley’s eye as Crowley stared unblinkingly back at him. 

At some point during Aziraphale’s confession, Crowley’s grip had become tight, almost painfully tight, and his knuckles were a stark white.

“Say something?” Aziraphale said quietly. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Crowley said with a sniffle. “Just give me a moment. I- sorry.” He released his deathly grip on Aziraphale’s hand. 

“It’s not a problem,” Aziraphale said while the blood in his hand started to recirculate. “Take your time.”

What if he’d revealed too much? What if he’d said the wrong thing and scared Crowley off? What if he’d been too intense? He’d often been accused of being just a little too much. 

Sure, they’d been friends for over 6000 years. And Crowley  _ had _ written all those lovely, beautiful things. But what if he’d written it centuries ago? What if the feelings had faded since then and he didn’t love Aziraphale like that anymore? What if- This was entirely irrational, wasn’t it? Aziraphale cursed his worrisome nature and was relieved when Crowley began to speak and put him out of his misery.

“I’ve loved you for over 6,000 years and I-I just think about how long I’ve loved you and how long I’m going to love you. Because I don’t think I’m ever going to stop, angel,” Crowley admitted. “I don’t think I could. And I, well, it goes against everything I am, doesn’t it? A demon hopelessly in love with an angel.” He snorted derisively and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. 

“You’re more than a demon, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said softly. He paused. “Why did you never say anything?”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Crowley muttered. “I love you. I always have. And I was just happy to have you in my life at all. I didn’t want to… scare you off or anything.” He gestured vaguely in the air with his hands. “I… I didn’t want to ruin what we had… the Arrangement…. I was terrified that if I said anything, you would h-hate me and never want to see me again,” he admitted quietly. “Couldn’t stand it. Even thinking about it… hurt. You made me feel safe. You were the only thing in the world that made me feel that way. After She… cast me out, I was lost and afraid and when you sheltered me from the rain, I-I knew I loved you. Having you in my life, in any way at all, was _ so _ … good, even if I- if I would have preferred more. Couldn’t stand to risk it.” 

“You were scared,” Aziraphale realized. 

“Yes,” Crowley said simply. “I was so scared, angel.” 

“I love you. And I am never going to stop,” Aziraphale said firmly. “If you had told me, I might have been... surprised. But I would have never rejected you. I would have never... abandoned you. I need you, too, Crowley.” 

“So… now that we’ve got that settled, wanna get out of here?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll pay and meet you at the car.” 

Crowley nodded, slipped his sunglasses back on, and walked out of the Ritz.

Aziraphale set enough cash on the table to cover their bill as well as a generous tip before he followed Crowley out to the Bentley. 

He opened the passenger side door and took his seat while the car’s sound system blared.

“I was born to love you with every single beat of my heart,” Crowley said in time with the music as he smiled at Aziraphale and Aziraphale smiled back.


End file.
